Page 51 of Sinister Secrets

This man would gladly see me burn at the stake. He’s probably rooting for it.

I want to ask him if he no longer wants my assistance with the investigation and the expenses associated with it, but I can’t. Because if he decides he doesn’t, I’d have to ask Director Lopez to intervene and keep me on, which would mean taking the case from the law enforcement agency with jurisdiction, and I can’t imagine him doing that, not for someone who’s been under his authority for less than a week.

Swallowing down the hate and contempt clogging my throat, I keep my voice tempered, devoid of emotion as I say, “I do. Thank you for your help with this matter, Sheriff Kingston. I’ll let you go now.”

I don’t hear if he replies before the call ends—the ringing in my ears is too loud, like an alarm warning me of danger. And though I tell myself that I’m safe, I know that I’m not. Not from suspicion, or arrest, or life in general. Someone wants to destroy me.

CHAPTER 28

This isn’t over. I can’t just trust that my innocence will speak for itself. Can’t let my guard down. Can’t stop digging. I have to be prepared for anything.

But I also have to eat. Sleep. Seek comfort.

Which is exactly what I intend to do, though not necessarily in that order.

Pulling into the drive, I’m relieved to see Jake’s truck parked in front of the house. I park behind him, my car door opening with a creak that I feel mirrored in my joints. Climbing out wearily, I round the vehicle and fill my arms with the bags of takeout I picked up for dinner. Juggle my load as I reach the door and give the handle a shove.

Nothing happens. The door’s locked.

Frowning, I shift my burden and punch in the code. Twist the thumb turn, releasing the deadbolt. Letting myself inside, I ease the door shut gently—silently—with my toe and look around. Everything appears fine, but the uneasiness expanding inside my stomach warns me that it’s not. Jake never locks the door when he’s home alone, especially if he’s expecting me.

My nerves are tingling, every sense on high alert as I enter the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. Hands now free, I withdraw the pistol from my holster, keep the weapon aimed toward the floor, pressed against my leg as I creep down the hall toward the bedroom.

Pausing at the threshold, I listen but don’t hear a sound. The odd feeling of dread has grown, making me feel uncomfortably full as I peer inside, not knowing what I’ll see, only that my instinct is warning me that it’s bad. Stare, confused, at the half-stuffed duffel bag on the end of the bed, not understanding until Jake emerges from the bathroom carrying his shaving kit.

“Hey,” I say, the casual tone of my voice in stark contrast to the screaming inside my head. Reholstering my firearm, I ask, “What’s going on?”

He looks at me and smiles, but his eyes don’t meet mine. And it’s not a genuine smile, but a bad facsimile, like Jake’s been replaced by an alien who knows how to work his muscles and expressions, but not in the right way.

“I’ve got some bad news.”

His words make my heart pound so hard that the organ practically kicks my legs out from under me. I sink to the edge of the mattress, worst case scenarios galloping through my mind like a runaway horse.

“There’s been a glitch with Delores’s deal. It’s starting to unravel.”

“What’s that mean, exactly?”

“That I’m going to have to put in however much time it takes to get it back on track.”

I exhale heavily, releasing all the worry and fear that have filled me to the brim. Once again, I’ve allowed my anxiety to get the best of me. This is nowhere as bad as I thought. Then I remember the duffel bag. My gaze drifts against its will from the toiletries in his hand to the half-stuffed knapsack.

“Then why are you packing?”

He sighs and grimaces. “I’m going to be pulling a lot of late nights and early mornings. I thought it would be easier to stay at the condo.”

“Oh.” I feel like I’ve been gut punched. “Okay.”

But it’s not. Because I need him. Have been counting on him to talk me down and keep me sane while I get to the bottom of this case, especially now, when it seems likely that someone’s trying to frame me.

I mean, look at how I just overreacted. Drawing my weapon, assuming the worst. Only, even now, with him before me, I can’t help but feel like there’s something I’m missing. That things are very, very wrong.

“Hey.” Jake shoves the bag aside to sit beside me. Taking my hand in his, he finally meets my eyes. His are full of regret. My own are struggling not to release their tears. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

If I tell him what’s going on, I know he’ll stay. He’ll do everything within his power to help.

But this is about me, not him. My mess, not his. Ever since I returned to Gator Glade, he’s been bailing me out of trouble.